Iris
by jenninani
Summary: AU Doomed love, death and Innocence in a fairytale world. Based off the original story of Romeo x Juliet. Wolfram x Yuuri & MuraYuu if you squint
1. Prologue

hey guys! first story ever. please review and hopes you like. the prologue is long i know but it's really important

**

* * *

******

**Iris**

Prologue

_50 years ago_

_once upon a time, in a world that still believes in once upon a times_

Rain in a sunny day.

Wolfram smiles at the incongruence of dreams, rubbing eyes still heavy from sleep.

He is still young (he hasn't even seen the ocean)-- Too young in fact and he blinks in confusion when he glances outside and the sun's already set leaving streaks of pink and storm clouds in their wake.

_Why hasn't papa come?_

Small bare feet push off the bed to meet brutally cold, hard stone. A window has been carelessly left wide open causing candles to flicker in and out of life. _The room is too big_, the small boy thinks in dissatisfaction, tenderly picking up a storybook, its spine slightly creased from use. He clutches it gently against his chest and totters towards the other side of the room where an oaken door stands. Standing on tiptoes, he is just able to peek through the keyhole catching a whiff of some floral perfume and clean white sheets.

'Doria?'

Footsteps and then the door creaks open revealing a kind maid. Her face is still sweet and young, framed by short, dark green curls, and pretty eyes covered but not hidden by thick glasses. She's not as pretty as other noblewomen he's seen and yet she's more beautiful than all that and Wolfram wraps his arms around the neck of the woman who he's had a childish infatuation with for as long as he can remember. He knows its not love because what is love? He is her duty, but she is still warm and kind and nice to hold. Doria asks silly questions about his day like a mother should. Whether he's hungry or sleepy, if he's had a bath and he glows under the attention.

'Where is papa?' he finally asks against her shoulder and frowns when he feels her shake her head, green curls making his nose itch.

'Your father is very busy.'

'He said he would read me a story.'

Wolfram's frown deepens when Doria attempts to pull the storybook from his hands. Both of them know that he's perfectly capable of reading it himself but neither of them say so when Doria offers to read it to him. Big emerald eyes stare down stubbornly.

'Of course he is busy, he is King of Shin Makoku. But he _promised._'

Doria smiles ruefully at her persistent ward when small hands guiltily let go of her crinkled dress.

'Alright, Young Master. We'll visit him for a minute.'

Hand in hand, they walk down the corridors of Blood Pledge Castle.

The air is silent and charged and Wolfram can hear the rumble of thunder in the distance. He shivers in his nightshirt. The taste of rain lies on the tip of his tongue as torchlight casts long flickering shadows in the dark.

A tenseness is gathering in the base of Doria's spine. Her grip on Wolfram's smaller hand tightens and she realises she's holding her breath as they near the office.

_It's just around this corner. _

The night is a wild thing and alive.

_Something is wrong._

'Where are all the guards?' Wolfram asks quietly.

And indeed they are all alone. No guards on patrol, no maids or scullery boys. The castle is so silent the only sound is the erratic drip, drip, drip of oil from a leaky torch.

'Stay here.'

Doria creeps quietly, steadily towards the door which is slightly ajar. Her fear is so evident she wonders why she is the only one who can hear the thudding of her heart.

_Blood._

She nearly chokes at the stench of it and covers her mouth with both hands muffling the sound she makes at the back of her throat.

She should have turned and fled then, but the ajar door captivates and transfixes her. One pale, trembling hand pushes it open. The other is clutched at her chest as she prays silently that the King is safe, that the guards are simply changing shifts.

Her mouth is still shaping unspoken hopes before the door is flung open and a sword is plunged into her body.

In times of death and urgency, there is no time to react.

Wolfram starts when he sees the door fly open and hesitates. Too late. Doria's body crumples like a flower. Through the door lies his father. It is almost as if he has fallen asleep on his desk except for the blood matting his pale, blonde hair and the corpses of guards and enemies scattered around him like broken dolls.

Lightning flashes illuminating the captor momentarily,

'Duke von Spitzweg…'

The sword is pulled roughly out of the maids body and blood glistens against cold steel.

Doria pushes herself slightly off the ground, a hand still clutching where the sword had once been. Her gaze never wavers from Wolfram's, blood trickling from pale lips as she utters one word.

'Run…'

And suddenly Wolfram is running, running, running. Corridors pass him in a blur and all he can hear is his laborious breath amid the thunder and crackle of lightning. He jerks in surprise, dodging a clumsy thrust on his left. A guard. A traitor and for a second he is so numb from the shock of betrayal that he is nearly struck from behind.

Countless turns later Wolfram muffles a cry when he enters a room with no other exits. He locks the door behind him and runs to the balcony. The jagged rocks and crashing water far below deem the jump suicidal and he is already soaked to the skin when the door behind him bursts open.

Ten seconds. Ten seconds before the Duke strides across the room and runs him through with his sword. Wolfram does not back into the railing. He is heir to the throne and stands his ground, emerald eyes blazing as the howling wind and rain pound down on him.

_Doria, I'm sorry. _

He waits, treasuring each and every second of breath and vital, rich blood flowing through his veins before he throws himself over the edge.

Many years from now, Wolfram will still recall the sensation of falling. The wind whistling past his ears, the waves raging far below and all around him the black sky stretching out endlessly. He plummets for what seems like an eternity before a hand, strong, safe and warm grabs him.

Green eyes open, surprised that they had even closed. A childish gasp escapes a mouth so usually set in expressionless stern lines.

_Dragons._

He is being swept through the skies to the heavy beating of black wings and his small hands twitch for the presence of a long forgotten story book. The rain is starting to cease as the creatures rise impossibly higher and a voice, gentle and low, tells him he's safe.

In the dawning sky, Wolfram dreams of heroes and smoke, magicians and alchemists, of love and tragedy and happy endings.

* * *

if you found this slow or confusing, it all gets explained in the coming chaps so please stick with it!


	2. Chapter 1

hey guys!

thanks so much for all the reviews! you guys have no idea how much they mean to me

they bring a smile to my face for the whole day!

i hope everything makes sense with the first chapter

* * *

**Iris**

**chapter one**: first encounters and history lessons

_50 years later, to present day Shin Makoku_

Wolfram gave an irritated sigh. There was simply far too much pink and far too many frills.

'Gunter…' Wolfram managed, keeping his voice calm, 'What in Shinou's name makes you think I'm going to wear this.'

Gunter's eyes shimmered, quite ignorant of the scowl on Wolfram's face. Chatting happily with the seamstress he added another three pins into the already overladen hem of the dress, gracefully avoiding the swift kick aimed at his face.

'But this will be perfect for the play!' he cried enthusiastically, gesturing to the seamstress to obtain more rolls of satin pink. 'No man will be able to take their eyes off of you'.

Wolfram cringed at that thought. 'and _why_ do I have to be a girl in the first place!' he hissed voice lowered to any prying ears.

Gunter's happy demeanour transformed as he gave Wolfram a warning look. 'We've been through this more than enough times _Juliet. _In everyone's eyes you are a girl. Thus in the play you will be a girl and will continue to do so until we see fit. You're lucky enough that Gwendal allowed you to dye your hair instead of wearing a wig today.'

Gunter paused.

'Which reminds me, a redhead will simply go perfectly with that shade of pink!' he cried excitedly when the seamstress entered again to her profuse agreement.

Wolfram's eye twitched as he watched the two gossip like housewives about the latest trends and the most dazzling dress worn by Lady Rosalind von Wincott. He couldn't take much more of this.

Gunter positively sparkled as he examined the ribbons the seamstress had provided. 'How delicate and exquisite, embodying the innocence of first love!' he wept dramatically. 'Now Juliet I simply cannot choose which shade you would – Juliet?'

Gunter stared, mouth agape at the spot Wolfram had been standing. But all that was left, was a trail of pink out the door.

* * *

Wolfram smiled in smug satisfaction as he torched the last offending shreds of pink frills, innocently walking into the markets with an added bounce in his step.

He wasn't supposed to use his maryoku anywhere in the town but he was far too annoyed to care. Only demons had the ability to use maryoku, and all demons were nobles. A human commoner possessing maryoku was scandalous at the least but really, it was simply too fine a day to pass up reducing Gunter to tears.

The markets were bustling with life in the afternoon sun, displaying their wares in every available location. Wolfram's brown locks almost shone blonde as he stretched his arms over his head enjoying the freedom of simple slacks and shirt. It was a rarity for him not to be escorted in Shin Makoku _and _clothed as a boy, significantly improving the morning he'd spent being lectured repeatedly by Gwendal -- not including Gunter's dismal costuming.

He felt a sigh of frustration leave him feigning interest in a farmer's boast at selling the freshest produce in all of Shin Makoku. For as long as he could remember he'd been dressing as a girl. Wigs, contacts, frilly dresses it didn't help that he already had effeminate features. He'd remade his identity so many times he never really held onto friends, watching playmates grow into middle aged men before he'd looked older than eight.

His attention piqued when he saw a stall selling antique swords. Gwendal had been surprisingly delighted when he'd displayed a talent for fighting, normally suppressing his other boyish activities such as wrestling in the mud – particularly as he'd still been wearing a blue petticoat Gunter had spent a week embroidering.

Wolfram had been reminded time and again that disguising his identity was a necessary precaution -- but for what reason he couldn't remember. Small flashes in the recesses of his mind transported him to a stormy night long ago, but the memory had buried itself too deep to ever surface again.

To his disappointment, most of the swords didn't look past a few years old. They were crafted decently but certainly did not match the vast tales of bloodshed the vendor was spinning.

'Young Sir, might I commend your taste! Indeed this ruby encrusted sword most certainly belonged to Rutherford von Bielefeld. It was pryed most secretively from his dying hands as King Montague von Spitzweg cast his final blow, freeing Shin Makoku from the Bielefeld's villainous rule.' Wolfram marvelled when the man didn't stop for breath. 'Some say the sword is cursed, others that it holds undaunted power. Young sir! I see you have a very good eye for fine swords, won't we start the bidding at a most humble—'

The merchant had trailed off, albeit reluctantly, as a commotion took place. In the centre of the square two teenage boys, badly bruised, were thrown to the ground in chains. Three guards surrounded the boys, as a justice keeper walked forward, scroll in hand towards a gathering crowd. Behind the man, the outline of the ancient guillotine loomed.

'People of Shin Makoku!' the justice keeper cried with a wide sweep of his arms. 'I bring to you two villains! Not only have they violated the first rule against same-sex relationships,' and here he paused with a sneer of disgust. 'But you Artur Von Christ have forever tarnished your family name with your shameless fornication with a commoner.'

At that statement one of the boys shoulders had slumped. His green hair marked him clearly as one from a long line of gifted healers in the von Christ house.

'In the name of the new Maou Cecilie von Spitzweg and Regent Stoffel von Spitzweg, you will both be executed immediately—'

'No!' One of the boys clothed in the blue garb of a blacksmith had stumbled forward angrily, ignoring the warning pressure of a spear against his throat. 'You promised if I confessed that you'd let Artur go!'

The boy named Artur started in disbelief, revealing a tear-stained face and soft features. 'Fitz… for me… you…'

'You are forbidden to speak, prisoner.' A guard said gruffly while the crowd murmured uncertainly.

The merchant shook his head ruefully. 'Three executions in a week goes too far, and such young ones --ah…'

A couple of coins had been left on the counter, but Bielefeld's sword was gone.

The justice keepers beady eyes narrowed at the crowd. 'You dare speak against me, commoners.' His rage rose as he pointed at the scroll furiously, his voice reverberating over the square. 'I who have been appointed by the royalty of Shin Makoku – who dares challenge me!?'

The man squealed as a dagger rushed past his face. It hit the scroll dead centre, pinning it against the wall. Angrily he shielded his eyes from the Sun facing the direction it had been thrown from.

Wolfram threw his entire weight on the scrawny man hearing a startled yelp from beneath him. The guards were slow on the uptake, and Wolfram swiftly disposed of the first before realisation had even dawned on his face. He wasn't so lucky for the other two, drawing the silver and ruby sword from its sheath. (A cry of outrage sounded from a stall in the crowd which Wolfram promptly ignored.)

Wolfram blocked a strong blow before swiftly sweeping the man's legs from beneath him. The last guard received a gash across his stomach and a hard kick in the back of the neck.

The fighting had no doubt attracted other guards – there was no time to lose. Wolfram grabbed a spear and approached the two boys who were huddled together, eyes wide as saucers. 'Stay still' he ordered before bringing the spear down hard on their chains. They split with a crack and grabbing them both, Wolfram ran.

* * *

'More tea, Yuuri Heika?'

Yuuri smiled weakly at the pretty girl sitting across from him. Dainty and sweet, he knew he was the envy of every nobleman when she'd offered to accompany him touring Lower Shin Makoku -- and yet, and yet…

'Thank you for the offer, Miss von Wincott but I think I've had enough. And please, call me Yuuri. Using honorifics when I am far from ascending the throne seems unnecessary.'

The girl blushed softly, her chestnut-brown eyes focusing on her napkin. 'If it pleases you Yuuri, then you must also call me Rosalind.' And she blushed harder.

Yuuri ignored the barely covered snigger emanating from Murata and gazed out at the splendid view of the town from their marble balcony. In the skies somewhere, Pochi was flying freely without a care in the world. It was a comforting thought, if not enviable.

He blinked when he'd realised he wasn't paying attention. 'Forgive me. Could you repeat what you said.'

Rosalind played with her biscuit before glancing shyly up at his eyes. 'I was simply commenting on what you had said previously. Heik—Yuuri, you will become a great King. With your Coming of Age Day approaching, I am sure Regent Stoffel will recognise that you are indeed the double black Priestess Ulrike had prophesised'.

Yuuri tried to smile at the words of encouragement but failed. 'You are very kind, trying to comfort me like this. But the prophecies of a double black boy who will become King and lead Shin Makoku into a new Golden era of prosperity – even I find this hard to believe. Or more correctly, I cannot blame Stoffel for being cautious of accepting me as the boy of prophecy.'

Yuuri couldn't deny the tiny black spot in his heart that knew Murata was a far more suitable King than he would ever be. They had been close friends ever since Yuuri could remember and always pitted against. No one was surprised when Murata bested him in Maryoku – something Yuuri still lacked great control over as the only half-blood in the entire court. Murata was the ace student, a fluent talker and a natural leader.

It had been perhaps an even greater shock to Yuuri than to anyone else, when Murata refused any claim over the throne. _The prophecy clearly details that the double black is born a commoner_, he remembered Murata explaining with a careless shrug of his shoulders.

Yuuri pushed around a piece of shortcake on his plate with his spork. No doubt some poor chef had spent all morning slaving over it when he'd heard they were inspecting lower Shin Makoku.

There really wasn't much to say about his own childhood in a small country village. He recalled a serious yet kind father, a bubbly mother who smelled of curry and an older brother-- the only one who could calm him down when he had nightmares. Yuuri still wondered what had become of them when Stoffel had realised to his dismay that he aged at the same rate as half-bloods.

His attention was diverted from the mangled cake when shouts sounded from below. Glancing over the balcony Yuuri noticed an out of breath justice keeper running down the alleyway, his cravat askew, shouting directions at guards. 'Find the brown-haired boy with the sword you fools! He is but a commoner!'

Sure enough a short distance away, three boys were leaping across the rooftops. Excitement bubbled in Yuuri as he spotted the brunette leading the other two. It was finally his chance to prove to the others just what he was capable of. Whistling hard, Yuuri leapt out of his chair, his first true smile appearing at the resounding cry from his dragon.

It appeared in a magnificent entrance of feathers and glistening scales. Rosalind's hand was pressed to her mouth in surprise as Yuuri leapt onto its back, patting the dragon affectionately. Urging Pochi forward they soared over the balcony after the criminals.

* * *

Wolfram cursed under his breath as the guards blocked another one of their exits. They weren't the brightest bulbs but their numbers certainly made up for it. And to top it all off, he could sense the boys behind him growing weary of the chase.

'Over there!' he said catching sight of the familiar bridge, hope flaring in him. 'If we pass that, there's a place I can hide you.'

Wolfram hurtled down the next alley, knocking three guards down before they could blink. The closest one still standing drew his sword with trembling hands opening his mouth to call out. Not allowing himself a moment's pause to consider what he was doing, Wolfram sliced his sword through the guard's throat, gritting his teeth to the stench of blood that followed.

'Move!' he growled at the two, now very pale boys who looked painfully the same age as him. The last guard was knocked senseless by a sharp jab in the scalp with the hilt of his sword—they were in the clear. Wolfram rounded the corner, feet pounding on the old, brick of the bridge. They were so close.

Wolfram heard it before he saw it. He gasped in surprise as wings beat down around him. Before he could react, a sword came from his right almost slicing him. The sound of metal scraping on metal echoed across the bridge as Wolfram instinctively blocked the next attack. Regaining his footing, brown eyes glared back at equally fierce black ones.

'Surrender now if you value your life, villains.' The raven-haired boy said. Wolfram would have laughed if he'd been in a different situation. The boy sounded as if he'd only learnt how to fight from the theatre.

'Who is the real villain, _nobleman._' Wolfram hissed pushing the boy back with his sword. 'Get behind me!' he barked at the two boys, placing his stance protectively in front of them.

The black-haired boy blinked in confusion past his shoulder. 'Artur?' he said dumbfounded.

The healer's green eyes widened in recognition, 'Ah Yuuri! How are you sir!'

"Fine I suppose."

Wolfram felt his eye twitch, the second time this day. Were all nobles such complete wimps? He cursed when he heard reinforcements arriving, there was no other choice.

To the couple behind him he talked quickly but evenly. 'Turn right at the first street. When you see the third door on the left, knock on it two times and say Doria. They'll help you.'

Wolfram's eyes turned back to the double black nobleman who was simply staring with a bewildered expression on his face. He'd undoubtedly heard their hideout, Wolfram had to kill him. He couldn't help but cringe at the lecture Gwendal would give him when he heard he'd murdered a high-ranking noble, one which even possessed a dragon.

Wolfram launched his attack. The nobleman yelped in surprise when their swords clashed, very narrowly missing his neck. Wolfram forced him back, grudgingly admitting that the boy wasn't half-bad. Two more slashes and the sword cluttered out of the double black's hand, leaving him teetering on the edge of the bridge.

The black-haired boy took a cautious, tiny step back. The guards would never make it in time Wolfram thought with grim satisfaction. Switching stance and bringing his sword arm back, Wolfram charged. The double black put his hands in front of him, eyes clenched shut.

In the next instant, Wolfram felt water push him crushingly back. He staggered, forcing his own fire magic around him in explosive frustration. Steam sizzled in the air as Wolfram tried to orientate himself in the fog. His foot slipped on a loose cobble and then another, before the ground gave way completely underneath him.

Wolfram let out a cry as the bridge crumbled.

Eyes shut tight, Wolfram waited for the impact of the ground far below him. Out of the mist and rubble, a hand stretched out and grabbed him firmly. Emerald eyes snapped open, as strong black wings beat in the crisp late afternoon air and he swept through the alleys of Shin Makoku. Suspended in the moment, Wolfram gazed upwards at those kind, black eyes, warm hand never letting go.

_I've felt this before._

Higher they flew and Wolfram gasped as the alleys parted way in a blur and Shin Makoku lay spread out before him. The sunset was brilliant. Purples, pinks and crimson bled through the sky, bathing the town in thick, golden honey that expanded forever, forever.

Eventually they touched down in an outcrop of flowers. They were pure white, growing resiliently on every part of what must have been long ago a beautiful temple. Wolfram gazed anywhere but the other boy's face, too mortified that he'd been saved by a noble. The light brushing of fingertips as the boy let go of his hand sent a bolt up Wolfram's spine causing their eyes to inadvertently meet.

The raven haired boy smiled at him.

His eyes were clear, pure unadulterated black, the wind ruffling through his hair and Wolfram was left breathless.

'You should be able to find your way back from here.'

'What?' Wolfram asked dazedly too captivated by the way the boy's voice was soft on the r's and l's, a hint of some foreign tongue.

The double black was already mounting his dragon before the situation caught up with him and he ran in front, arms outspread.

'Why are you doing this?' Wolfram demanded. 'I tried to kill you.' _And failed, _he thought with a wince. Whether the boy had saved him or not, he couldn't let him leave knowing that he, a commoner had just performed flame magic.

'You were helping my friend.' The boy said simply, scratching his head ruefully. 'Artur used to heal me when I was younger and he's never been anything short of considerate and kind. He's probably saved my life a dozen times at least. I owe him this much.'

Wolfram watched numbly as the raven haired boy left, leaving behind a trail of black feathers in his wake. He felt dizzy, and he knew he was a fool for trusting the noble, but he did, he did.

The wind blew carrying with it the smell of white petals and night. Wolfram closed his eyes, breathing it all in, still giddy and warm from the afterglow.

His name had been Yuuri.

* * *

thanks! hope you enjoyed it


End file.
